


I'm always here

by WonderVita



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Hecate being soft, Implied Anxiety, TW! referenced death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22760182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderVita/pseuds/WonderVita
Summary: ‘Miss Hardbroom! Miss Hardbroom!’Hecate jumped when the door banged open, Morgana yelping in offense.‘What is the meaning of this?’She inquired, rising to tower above the girl.‘It’s Bea! We don’t know what happened...we-we don’t know what to do!’
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	I'm always here

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a very short scene that popped into my head...also my first writing in a while. I'll be honest, writing hasn't been bringing me any joy in the past few months but I am hoping to get back fully soon.

Hecate had just retired to her rooms. It wasn’t past the curfew yet but it was already quiet time meaning the girls couldn’t make any excessive noise. Many were still studying and she intended to let them. It was about an hour before her final rounds but she was already done with her work for the day so she allowed herself some time with her newest book. Hair coiling around her face, down her shoulders, her chest and pooling around her waist, her leather gown tied just loosely, Morgana curled on her lap and a cup of tea on the coffee table. That was the image of coziness no one would really associate with her and one that was interrupted by a screaming Sybil Hallow. 

‘Miss Hardbroom! Miss Hardbroom!’  
Hecate jumped when the door banged open, Morgana yelping in offense.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ She inquired, rising to tower above the girl.

‘It’s Bea! We don’t know what happened...we-we don’t know what to do!’

Sibyl’s eyes were watery and filled with terror, it was reason enough for her to tighten her gown and transfer them both into the Red corridor. Beatrice Bunch’s room was the epicenter of a small commotion. Most girls didn’t dare to leave their rooms and they hovered in doorways, lured by the transpiring drama but silent. Small group crowded the entrance to Bea’s room and discussed something with shaky excitement that seemed to appear wherever a large number of children lived. It rested most of the time, hidden under chairs and desks like a familiar, waiting patiently for something to break out of routine so it could peak its head out. It filled the young witches with morbid longing for tragedies, an unexplainable need to draw near and feed off fear, pain and hurt. But it’s nothing to hold against them for they do not recognize their own pleasure and thrill. Hecate has worked with youngsters long enough to know all this but she still felt a rush of anger or rather protectiveness of whomever was the victim.

Out of the tangle of voices, one rose, bidding the others to step back. It belonged to Clarice Twigg.  
Hecate followed Sibyl right into the mass of students. She was begging to dread whatever she will witness there. Was it a spell gone awfully wrong? An exploded potion resulting in a missing limb? Accidental enchanted sleep? She steeled herself and peered into Beatrice’s bedroom.  
The room’s occupant was sitting heavily on her desk chair, slouched and leaning slightly forward so that Hecate guessed it wouldn’t be long until the girl fell. Beatrice was crying. No, she was weeping and sobbing with such force she could scarcely draw a breath. A brief glance around the room revealed that everything seemed to be intact and nothing was on fire. Solstice, Beatrice’s familiar gazed at her mistress helplessly from where it was seated at her feet.

‘To your rooms. Everyone.’  
Fear of miss Hardbroom’s wrath was thankfully greater than the thirst for drama and the inhabitants of the Red corridor scattered into their respective bedrooms. 

‘What is going on? Beatrice Bunch, please calm down and tell me what put you in this state.’ Hecate inquired. The girl, however, didn’t seem to notice her at all.

‘She won’t speak miss Hardbroom.’  
‘We don’t think she can, she’s crying so much…’  
Sybil and Clarice, of course the only ones that haven’t cleared off, supplied quietly. Hecate turned to them then.  
‘What has happened? Explain.’  
It was Clarice who spoke, as Sybil was still too shaken to think clearly.  
‘We’re not sure. We were revising for tomorrow’s Witchory exam...Bea hasn’t been doing so well. She was really worried miss Cackle will expel her if she fails another exam. And then she started crying and talking about her mom. But...Bea’s mom died so that didn’t make much sense-‘  
‘I think she’s worried her mom would be disappointed in her.’  
Sibyl found her voice and delivered the crucial piece of information that had Hecate wishing she wasn’t the one on night duty. She was no good with the girls’ emotional troubles, Ada would be much better for this. However since she’s already here she’ll deal with it. In the end she can relate to Beatrice’s predicament so maybe this won’t blow up too badly.

‘Go to bed, you two.’  
‘But miss Hardbroom-‘  
‘It is not open for discussion.’

The two girls finally left, with their heads down and worried expressions on their faces.  
Hecate took a moment to compose herself and then stepped gingerly over the threshold, the door fell shut behind her.

‘Beatrice, you need to try to calm down so that we can-‘  
Deaf to Hecate’s plea, Bea sobbed harshly, broke into another fit of tears and, just as Hecate had predicted, slid off her chair. It surprised them both when Hecate caught her and sank with her onto the floor.  
‘Breathe, Beatrice, you need to breathe. Take a deep breath.’ She herself followed the advice, almost absentmindedly. Beatrice sucked in as much air as she could.  
‘Good, now breathe out. Take another one...and out. Just like that , one more. And out.’  
Now considerably calmer, Bea was finally able to take in her situation. Carefully she scooted back to lean against the side of her bed, Hecate didn’t blame her.

‘Your friends told me you are worried about your grades, specifically what your mother would have said about them?’

‘It’s not just about the grades.’ The girl sniffed. Hecate handed her one of her black handkerchiefs. Beatrice blew her nose noisily and continued.  
‘I want to be a cook, like my mom was. But I’m-I’m scared she wouldn’t have wanted me to. Or that she’d think I’m not good enough for that. Or that she’s be angry because I’ve been spending most of my time in the kitchens and haven’t been focusing on my studies.’

Hecate slowly moved to sit next to the troubled girl. Beatrice lifter her red and wet eyes. ‘I just want her to be proud of me.’ Sadly, this confession only made her cry more.

Hecate awkwardly put an arm around her in attempt to be comforting but she felt just stiff and weird. Bea’s fear was one Hecate was familiar with. She’s often wondered what her own mother would think of her if she got to see her grown up. She probably wouldn’t be too pleased. She would be disappointed that Hecate sits next to a crying child and the only thing she can offer is silence and a tense limb. That she lacks the warmth, gentleness and comforting presence to see this done properly. Her mother would have known how to deal with this, she would have had just the thing.  
Whenever Hecate was upset as a child her mother would- wait a minute, she might actually have the tools to deal with this. But will she use them? Could she?

After the first trembling breath it came easily. The melody of her memories never faded and the words rolled out of her mouth with such ease it was as if no time had passed. She didn’t allow herself to think too much about the scene, her, sitting on the floor, singing to a pupil. Thankfully she still associated the song with comfort so her mind was easily tricked.  
By the end of the song, Hecate’s arm has relaxed around Beatrice, who huddled closer.  
‘What song was that? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.’

‘It’s a Spanish lullaby,it’s...the only thing I have from my mother. Well, that and her looks, or so people say. I don’t really remember what she looked like...she died when I was five.’ 

‘Don’t you have any pictures?’  
Hecate smiled sadly.  
‘No...they were all put away before I knew to ask for them.’

Beatrice took a crumpled photograph out of her pocket and gazed at it lovingly, fingers tracing the worn surface.  
‘I miss her so much. It’s been seven years and I still miss her so much.’

‘You’ll never stop missing her. There will always be moments you’ll wish she was near. But you learn to live with it. The pain dulls…’  
Hecate shook her head to get out of her melancholy. Surely Beatrice didn’t need to hear something so depressing. The girl seemed fine though. Or as fine as she could be in her current state. 

‘That’s what dad says. He says time will heal us.’

‘Your father...he treats you well?’  
Inquired the older of the pair, painfully remembering her own father’s rejection…and his punishments, ‘stray’ hexes, his cruel words. She felt fear slowly creeping up to her. Could the same be happening to Beatrice? 

‘Yeah, my dad’s great. He’s doing his best.’  
Those words rid Hecate of the giant boulder she had had building on her chest.

Beatrice turned her attention to the handkerchief that was now laying in her lap and started fidgeting with it.  
‘I’m afraid that-that one day I won’t be able to recall her face anymore. I can’t remember if she preferred black ink or blue...or her favorite food. I don’t want to forget her.’

‘I don’t think those things are important.’  
‘Those small things are very important. That’s what everyone says. It’s what makes a person and if you remember the small things about someone it means you love them.’ Bea turned to face her teacher in challenge.

‘There are many ways to love someone. I can’t remember all the lines of my mother’s face or the exact way her voice would drop and rise in a sentence. I can’t remember the clothes she wore or how she took her tea. But when I close my eyes...she’s there. When I close my eyes I can see her dark hair and dark eyes, I know her voice was soft, like piano in minor, I know she always smelled of herbs.’  
Hecate turned to Beatrice, who was studying her curiously.  
‘But...I want to remember the small things about her, I don’t want to forget.’

‘Memories fade, that’s just the way things are. But you’ll never forget your mother, you will always have the feeling of her. The way you loved her and the way she loved you. It will be right here, in your heart, forever.’  
The girl wiped at the fresh tears that rolled down her cheeks.  
‘I wish I had something better to tell you.’ Whispered Hecate.  
‘No, miss Hardbroom, thank you. Everyone tells me I won’t forget and that she’s watching over me and all that stuff. They mean well, I know, but they don’t really understand.’

This confession took Hecate aback and she suddenly became very interested in the floorboards in front of her.  
‘You can always come to me...I-I know I’m hardly someone’s first resort for a conversation but...well, you can.’  
To her immense surprise Bea surged forward and hugged her. Hecate awkwardly pat her back.  
‘Thank you, miss Hardbroom.’

‘Well I shall be off to see to my rounds. Get some sleep, Beatrice. And don’t worry about the exam, I’m sure miss Drill would be amiable to help you find a way to improve your grades.’  
With that Hecate rose and made for the door. Beatrice nodded, calmer now.  
Her hand on the doorknob, Hecate turned back into the room.  
‘For all it’s worth, I think your mother would be very proud of you, Bea.’

After closing the door, a small smile escaped her. Hecate quickly wiped her eyes which suddenly became a bit watery, this certainly didn’t blow as bad as she feared. In fact, she did rather well. Maybe even her mother would be proud.


End file.
